Enough
by PhoenixBlaine
Summary: Santana Lopez led a life that was happy enough.  Santana-centric, Brittana.


_A/n: This oneshot was inspired by the incredibly touching photos that have surfaced of the first official same-sex marriages in New York. I saw a photo of two elderly new-wed ladies, and it just made me think of Santana (my mind works in mysterious ways). So here you are – please review! Thanks._

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><p>Santana Lopez led a life that was happy enough.<p>

She was close enough to the top of the social hierarchy – she was no Quinn Fabray, but then, _no one _was Quinn Fabray. Not even a baby and her constantly flip-flopping status on the Cheerios were enough to keep Fabray down, the bitch. But if Blondie was the reigning ice queen of McKinley, Santana was the head bitch in charge, and that was plenty for her.

She was pretty enough, too, pretty enough to be one of the most lusted-after girls at school. Her face was nothing to write home about, maybe, but she had a killer body and didn't mind flaunting it. The boys loved that. The boys loved _her._

She liked boys enough. Enough to pass, enough to feel normal when all of her girlfriends started kissing boys in seventh grade. She liked them enough to start screwing them in high school, enough to keep it on her terms, at least. She stayed in control in bed. No boy was going to put her in _her rightful place as a woman_. She made them beg, made them work for it, made them get her off before she even let them take off their pants. That's why she and Puck stayed together for so long – whether or not he was by nature the most selfless lover (he wasn't), he loved a challenge, and Santana was definitely a challenge.

Then there was Brittany.

The Brittany situation started out innocently enough – well, as innocently as anything with Santana started. It was just a normal Friday night their freshman year, and they were hanging out in Puck's basement. It was the normal crew, Santana, Brittany, Puck, Finn, and Matt, and they'd been sucking down a twelve-pack Puck had scored from his twenty-one-year-old cousin.

"You guys should make out," Puck had drawled, starting on his fifth beer of the night.

Santana had stopped breathing. She'd noticed the way Brittany made her blush with her very presence, the way the insane bits of wisdom that came from Brittany's mouth just made her giggle, the way her perfume seemed to envelope Santana's world when they hugged. And suddenly they were kissing, the blonde's blithe tongue slipping into her mouth as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and Santana knew that she had no interest in ever kissing another boy. It wasn't real then, she knew, as they made out lying on Puck's basement floor. They were simply actors, playing the roles of _lesbians_ for their audience, like a live-action porno. That didn't mean anything. When they left Puck's together with a quick call to Brittany's mom about sleeping over at Santana's and they spent the night exchanging slow, nervous kisses and hesitant touches through cotton pajamas, _that _was real.

And suddenly, Puck wasn't enough anymore. Neither was Finn, nor any of the other boys from the football team. She even tried slumming it with a couple of the boys from the hockey team, but nothing made her feel alive, feel burning and red and aroused and _content _as she did as she did when she was with her best friend, experimenting softly in the dead of night.

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><p>It was the summer before their senior year. They were lying in Brittany's bed together like they had a thousand times before, but that afternoon they were naked under the thin sheet, feeling sated and calm.<p>

"This is nice," the blonde murmured, nuzzling lightly into the other girl's shoulder as she pulled Santana closer, their bodies aligning comfortably. "You're usually dressed by now."

"I know," she replied groggily. "Please don't make me move."

Brittany laughed, kissing the smooth nook of the neck. Lord Tubbington jumped on the bed with them, and Brittany immediately kicked at the cat to shoo him away, pushing off their sheet in the process. "I'm mad at you," she insisted. "I know you deleted American Idol before I got to watch it."

Santana couldn't help giggling, shaking her head lovingly at her best friend as she finally succeeded in tossing the cat lightly off the bed. He landed on his feet with a distinctly irate meow, walking huffily away. Brittany turned back to resume her place in the bed but stopped abruptly, staring at the girl in her bed with a look that could only be described as reverent.

"What are you staring at?" Santana asked, feeling oddly self-conscious and tugging the sheet back up to its former place. "It's nothing you haven't seen a thousand times before."

Brittany grabbed the edge of the sheet away, pulling it back again and looking at the body before her. Gently, she ran her fingertips across the smooth abdomen, resting her hand on jutting hipbone. "You're so beautiful, Santana," she said softly, barely more than a whisper. She leaned down and kissed her, slowly and sweetly, running her fingers lightly through the long black hair before pulling away, her hand still caught in the smooth locks. "I love you."

"I love you too," Santana breathed, her eyes fluttering shut.

She had always assumed that she would go through her life the way she'd gone through high school. She thought that she would find a boy that she could stand well enough to marry and possibly have his children and lead the normal life she'd seen others live. Coming out never even entered the equation. Why would she purposefully expose her vulnerabilities to the world like that? It had always seemed idiotic before.

But lying there, being held by her best friend in the world, Santana could dream of a different life, a life where she came out to her parents and to her friends, where she brought her girlfriend over for dinner. She dreamed of a world where she never had to sleep with a boy again to prove anything to them or to herself. She dreamed of having a girl to live with, to cook with and have movie marathons with and go on dates with and cuddle in bed with at night. She dreamed of maybe one day marrying a girl, even if they had to move to New York to do so; she dreamed it might even be Brittany.

Suddenly she felt strong enough to have those things, confident enough to pursue that beautiful contentment that flooded her as she stared in those blue-gray eyes on the pillow beside her. In the moment, Brittany was enough for her. Happiness was enough. Love was enough.


End file.
